


The Case of the Idiot Detectives

by EbonyKnight



Series: The Adventures of Greg and Sherlock [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8840296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyKnight/pseuds/EbonyKnight
Summary: Greg is fed up of Sherlock breaking into his flat, but his solution causes a minor misunderstanding.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock of anything associated. 
> 
> Beta'd by my dear friend RomanyWalker.

It was late when Greg finally made it home, half frozen and tired to the bone. He'd known it was going to be a bad day when he rolled out of bed twenty minutes late because the alarm hadn’t gone off, then found out the hard way that he was out of coffee, and it had only gone downhill from there. 

He blamed his weariness for missing Sherlock’s coat hanging from a hook on the hall wall, and jumped nearly out of his skin when the other man called, “There's fresh tea in the pot!” from the bathroom.

“Thanks!” he shouted back, making his way to the kitchen without even removing his coat.

With a hot cup of tea warming his hands, Greg turned and found his lover lounging against the kitchen door frame, looking for all the world like he'd walked straight from the pages of one of those glossy mags that littered the tables in the staff room. “There was nothing you could have done differently,” he said, as though continuing a conversation they had been having previously.

“What are you on about?” Greg asked, forcing himself to move from the kitchen into the living room. He put his tea down, removed his coat, draping it over the arm of the sofa, and flopped gracelessly into his favoured armchair. Sherlock, for his part, seated himself on the sofa and pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin upon them. 

“Duncan Ross not being convicted today,” Sherlock clarified, blue eyes intense. “The evidence simply was not there for you to find.”

“I’m not going to bother asking how you know about that,” Greg replied, pushing his left hand through his hair. That bastard walking, when they knew full well that he had been responsible for the armed robberies, was infuriating, but he knew Sherlock was right; the fucker had covered his tracks far too well, and the intuition of a seasoned copper didn’t often hold much weight with a jury.

“It’s obvious to me, but I won’t bore you with the details.”

Greg felt the weariness leaving him; he was warm and comfortable for the first time in hours, and Sherlock’s surprise visit was doing wonders for his mood, but did leave an issue to be addressed. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t keep breaking in, you know,” he said, palming his pocket. The item there, which he’d collected during his too-short lunch break, felt much larger than it was, and Greg was assaulted by nerves at the thought of what he was about to do with it.

To his surprise, Sherlock visibly tensed, wrapping an arm around his knees and drawing them closer to his chest. For a horrible moment Greg thought that the other man had worked out what he was going to do and was opposed to it, but then Sherlock spoke. “I’m aware that I am new to this kind of relationship, and have likely been getting things wro—” 

“—Sherlock, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.”

Sherlock snorted. “You didn't reply to my text this morning, then you declined an invitation to have lunch with me—”

“—like I said, wrong end of the stick,” Greg interrupted firmly. He worked his hand into the pocket of his slacks and withdrew the item that seemed to have been burning a hole there since lunch. “I had this cut today,” he said, tossing the key to the other man. Sherlock caught it reflexively and stared at it, apparently completely nonplussed. “Not that you haven’t always been able to get in to wherever I’ve been living,” he said, mind flashing back to finding the other man going into withdrawal on the sofa of the house he had shared with his wife in the early days of their acquaintance, “but now you don’t have to break in.”

Sherlock sat stock still, staring at the key for a long moment, face devoid of anything approaching emotion, and Greg felt a heavy weight forming in his gut. “You don’t have to keep it,” he found himself saying, but the words had barely left his mouth when Sherlock fairly launched himself from the sofa. 

“Ooof!” Greg uttered, for his lips were taken in a sudden and demanding kiss. Sherlock settled himself with his slender legs either side of Greg’s thicker ones, and the older man could feel the cold metal of the key pressed against his scalp where Sherlock had his fingers twined into his hair. 

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Greg returned the kiss and soon his right hand had worked under the dark blue of Sherlock’s shirt. He stroked up and down the other man’s back, finger nails scraping lightly at the smooth skin. The kiss gradually eased in its intensity, leaving both men flushed and short of breath. Raising his free hand, Greg gently pressed his thumb against Sherlock’s swollen bottom lip, knowing from how they felt that his own were similarly puffy. “You could have just said thank you, you know.”

Sherlock dropped his head onto Greg’s shoulder. “I'm not good partner material,” he said into the fabric of Greg’s shirt. “You know my faults as well as any other person. Better, in fact, than most.”

“And I don’t give a fuck about them.” 

“Are there any days you would rather I didn’t use this?” Sherlock asked after a long moment, lifting his head to look Greg in the eye. 

“No. You’re always welcome here, but be warned that Amy stays most weekends and any night she’s had an argument with Jane.” 

Holding Sherlock’s gaze, the older man leant forward and brought their lips together again. Despite being less frenzied, this kiss was no less intense and Greg soon felt Sherlock growing hard against him. Never one for being slow about taking what he wanted, Sherlock worked a hand between them and started on the buttons of Greg’s shirt. Time seemed to blur before Greg, lost as he was in Sherlock’s kisses, and when he became aware again he was shirtless and attempting to get the other man’s trousers off despite the awkward position. 

“Bedroom,” he said breathlessly, pulling away enough to be able to speak. 

“Yes, good idea,” Sherlock replied standing swiftly. He stepped away from Greg and shrugged out of his shirt, allowing it to fall to the floor, before heading for the bedroom. 

Greg stood from his chair carefully, for his erection made his trousers uncomfortably tight, and followed behind, switching off the light as he passed. By the time he reached the bedroom, Sherlock had switched on the lamp, divested himself of the rest of his clothes and was sprawled across the bed, fisting his cock slowly. “Christ, what have I done to deserve you?” Greg asked, eyes trailing the length of the younger man’s slender body, taking in the way his pale skin seemed to glow against the black of the bedding.

“I have no idea, but I can assure you it has nothing to do with any deity or his offspring,” Sherlock replied with a smirk, reaching out a long arm to take the tube of lubricant from the bedside table. 

“Smart arse.” 

“Hmm, yes. Are you just going to stand there?” he drawled, eyes fluttering to half-mast.

Greg dropped his trousers and pants and climbed onto the bed, settling himself atop Sherlock. “Am I too heavy?”  


“Idiot,” Sherlock scoffed, lifting his head and taking Greg’s lips in a heated kiss. 

Lifting himself slightly, knees taking his weight off the younger man, Greg fumbled around for the lube. With a noise of triumph he coated both of their cocks; Sherlock made a pleased sound at the contact and pulled Greg back down into the V of his legs, thrusting up against him. Between the lube and pre-come they were both leaking, their movements were smooth as they settled into a familiar rhythm and too soon Greg felt his orgasm approaching. 

He looked down at the younger man, finding him with his eyes closed tight and splashes of red across his cheeks. “Gorgeous." 

Sherlock opened his eyes, pupils dilated, lips quirking into a smile. “You flush down to here right before you orgasm,” he said breathlessly, trailing a hand down to Greg’s collar bone, before pinching his left nipple.

He'd been close before, but the extra touch from Sherlock pushed him over the edge and he came with a moan, hips jerking erratically against his lover, and buried his face in Sherlock’s shoulder. As he recovered from his orgasm, Greg became aware that the other man was still hard. He pushed up from Sherlock’s lean body with a groan, and, ignoring the mess on his abdomen, moved down the bed enough to be able to take his erection into his mouth. The taste of lube and his own come lingered unpleasantly, but Sherlock’s reaction made it worthwhile; almost immediately the younger man made a guttural sound and his hips lifted from the bed, forcing his cock further into Greg’s mouth. Doing his best not to gag, Greg brought his free hand into play, covering the flesh that he wasn't able to take into his mouth, paying attention to the places that he knew Sherlock was sensitive. Seconds later he was rewarded when his lover came with a gasp, and Greg did his best to swallow without choking. 

Greg pushed himself back up the bed and rested his head on the pillow beside Sherlock’s dark mess of curls. 

“When are you going to tell your daughters?” Sherlock asked after several moments of silence.

“This weekend. I’m picking Amy up on Saturday morning and we’re going up to Sheffield to visit Abigail. I didn’t want to tell them until I knew if you were serious about this, what with the upheaval they’ve already been through.”

Sherlock rolled his expressive eyes. “I was serious, as you put it, the night I first kissed you. I would hardly have risked our working relationship had I not been.”  


Greg cast his mind back to that night. “How was I meant to know?” he asked defensively. “As far as I knew, you tolerated my company in exchange for cases and then all of a sudden you were kissing me!”

Sherlock rolled onto his side, head propped on his hand, and looked down at Greg. “Idiot. It’s hardly my fault that you excel at missing the obvious.”

“Says the man who thought I was giving him the elbow,” Greg replied. “For someone so ridiculously clever, you aren’t half thick sometimes.”

“Piss off,” Sherlock snapped with an annoyed huff and rolled over, presenting his back to Greg. He turned the lamp off, casting the room into darkness, save for the light filtering through the window from the street lamps outside. 

Greg kissed Sherlock’s shoulder before settling down. “Night,” he said to the other man’s back. 

The bedroom was silent except for sounds of their breathing for several minutes, and Greg felt himself drifting, the events of the day catching up with him quickly. On the verge of sleep, he became vaguely aware of Sherlock shifting in the bed, pressing his warm back into Greg’s front. “Good night.”


End file.
